


a cookie and a glass of milk

by watchtheleaves



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soft Boys, albert is hard of hearing, albert plays the piano, albert provides it, anyway, but i lost it, got the idea from tumblr, idk man this is just fluff, it's 4 in the morning help me, it's really really soft though, kinda??, race has nightmares, race needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23196799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchtheleaves/pseuds/watchtheleaves
Summary: race wakes up from a nightmare.
Relationships: Albert DaSilva/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	a cookie and a glass of milk

**Author's Note:**

> hey kids!! this is short and soft and it's 4am so i apologize in advance if it doesn't make much sense. anyway, been having kind of a hard time, so writing this for them made me feel a bit better. wash your hands, people. and enjoy!

Race sits in a ninety-degree angle and curses a breathy, “ _Fuck_.”

Running a hand through his curls, he winces at the newfound cold sweat they leave in his palm, and quickly wipes it against the bedsheets in regret. He glances around, agitated and still trapped inside his most recent dream, longing for anything to anchor him back to reality and far, far away from the nightmare realm.

There’s a clock on the nightstand and a picture frame that holds his favorite picture of him and all his friends at Jojo and Buttons’ wedding, the past September. There’s a shirt that’s been thrown over a desk chair with the promise that it’d be promptly set in place in the morning. There’s a faint _something_ that the moonlight brings through the window. There’s the light that comes from beneath the closed bathroom door because Race hates to sleep in complete darkness.

He turns, and there’s Albert, lying next to him. Red short waves stray across the pillow and his arms are extended as if reaching out towards Race, either in his sleep or from the moment they laid in bed together. There’s one thing, though, and it’s that Albert is awake. Two eyes look at him, and Race winces.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Albert doesn’t give him a chance. He smiles lazily but comfortingly, stretching an arm in front of him to tap Race’s knee as they’ve always done since they were kids, whenever one of them was upset. “You with me?”

Race puts a hand over Albert's and squeezes it, needing to fully ground himself. He nods reassuringly, but his response comes out watery. “Yeah.”

Albert sits up to level with Race, and in the dark one can barely tell of the few inches taller he is. He pulls his free hand up and brushes away the stray curls that had fallen on Race’s forehead. He doesn’t complain about the sweat.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Race shakes his head, guilt crawling under his skin. He knows he should, but he really doesn’t want to. That was the question, after all.

As if sensing Race’s thoughts, Albert leans over just enough to make the tips of their noses meet. “That’s okay,” he whispers. He plants a kiss on his forehead before tilting his head in thought, then quickly stepping out of bed. He blindly finds his aids on the nightstand and slides them on with a small wince before holding out a hand for Race.

“Where are we going? It’s almost four,” Race asks. Albert just shrugs and smirks.

“Just come with me,” he signs.

Race lets himself be dragged to the living room and immediately knows of Albert’s plan. He glances up at his boyfriend with shiny eyes and Albert cups his cheeks for just a moment before stepping into the kitchen. Race slides into the bench that’s in front of the old, battered piano Albert had inherited from a rich grandparent. He taps his fingers against the wood and waits, observing his surroundings.

Soon enough, Albert’s head pops back into the living room and his body follows, carrying a glass of milk and a single cookie. Race blushes and looks up at him.

“Cookies and milk? I ain’t a kid, Al,” he protests, not because he doesn’t appreciate the gesture, but because he shouldn’t need it. Albert scoffs.

“The milk’s for you,” he hands him the glass. “The cookie’s for me,” he takes a bite and sticks his tongue out. Race laughs and pushes him over slightly before moving over on the bench to leave him space.

Albert sits next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and Race feels five years younger. He’s back in high school, stressed over some Calculus test, and allowing himself to sway away to Albert’s music.

They’re not in high school anymore, though. But if it can feel the same, it’s because the essence never truly changed — it never really went away.

Albert clears his throat, hand over Race’s on his lap. When he inevitably has to move both hands to play, Race opts to rest his head on his shoulder to make up for the lost touch. Albert smiles to himself and they both silently take in the melody as the notes float away from Albert’s fingertips and into the air, escaping out the window, flying out into the night, as do all of Race’s fears. He can’t ever feel truly scared, not when he’s around Albert. Not when Albert promised, back when they were kids, to always have his back. Not when Albert never failed him, since then.

“You wanna learn that one? We can play it together,” Albert asks, eyes so soft Race could almost burst into tears. He hums, extending his arms and letting Albert place his hands accordingly.

After a few attempts where Race missed a key or two due to lack of sleep or mere coordination, they get through the chorus of the song without any errors and Race squeals, looking at Albert.

“We did it!”

“Yeah,” Albert mirrors his smile. “See? It ain’t that hard, Toni. Just gotta practice.”

“Says you. You’ve been playing this thing since, like, age five or so. Not all of us can be Mozarts, Albie.”

Albert scrunches up his nose and smiles, kissing Race’s cheek. “No, I guess you can’t.”

Leaning back against Albert’s side, Race hums to the melody of the next couple of songs. He knows them all already because Albert has clear preferences in his repertoire, but he likes it. He likes the familiarity, and at nights like that, he craves it. He sighs into Albert’s shoulder, wanting to feel good. Wanting to feel as happy as he is. Albert smiles sympathetically and kisses the top of his head.

“It doesn’t bother me,” he signs. Race tips his head slightly to see him more clearly. “That you don’t talk about it. It will never bother me. You don’t have to do anything, Racer, y’know. It’s not like you owe me it. I just want you to be safe.”

Race bites his inner cheek and nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I know, Al. I love you.”

“I love _you_. Drink your milk.”

Another song ends and another song begins. Race recognizes this one from Albert’s less frequent collection of tunes and feels weirdly comforted that he’d play one of his rare pieces. Sometimes, Race can’t understand what he did to deserve to be the only member of Albert’s private audience for such masterpieces. He just hopes he’s worthy, and Albert proves him that he is.

He can feel Albert’s shoulder vibrate slightly as he hums, and Race allows himself to close his eyes and breathe. In, out, in, out. He lets in all the love he’s being given and lets out all the bad things his brain manufactured. He lets in Albert as he lets out all of his monsters. They’re not his anymore and, for now, the night will know to take care of them.

Albert knows how to pinpoint the exact moment where Race falls asleep, head on his shoulder, because he can feel the tension washing away in mere seconds from where it haunted his shoulders, his back, the back of his neck. He finishes his piece and silently closes the piano moving as little as possible before putting an arm around Race’s shoulders and slowly, carefully lifting him from the bench, helping him walk half-asleep to the bed and lay back down where he’d woken up a little over an hour back.

Race moves in uneasy sleep and Albert bites his lip, but then, he speaks. “Al,” he begs. Albert kneels in front of him, not yet lying in bed. He focuses on his lips, struggling more than usual in the semi-dark. He's thankful he's known Race his whole life, long enough to be a master at reading his lips over anyone else's. Race keeps his eyes closed tightly, but eases himself as he feels Albert’s hand on his own. “I didn’t want ya to leave.”

Albert frowns, smiling, and kisses Race’s hair. “I wouldn’t leave you if the world was ending, Toni. I’m right here.”

When Race hums in agreement, Albert seizes the sudden silence to take off his aids and slide next to him in bed. Only then, Race chuckles, mostly in his sleep.

“That was cheesy,” he signs.

Albert smiles and rolls his eyes fondly, stroking his arm mindlessly with one finger. “Yeah, it was. We’re never watching those romcoms of yours again.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @NEWSIESLIVE on twitter and @whizzcrwins on tumblr! if you got this far, thank you for reading <3 the comment section would love to hear about you!


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